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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23988658">ↄharacter</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers'>sonshineandshowers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt but No Comfort, Experimental, F/M, Grief, Heavy Alcohol Use, Loss, Mentions of Cancer, Mentions of Sex, Reflection, Sad, canon minor character death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:27:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>800</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23988658</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gil slid to an l, he didn’t see the daylight. He rolled the width of the bed, every position just as lonely, and fell deep into the dark pull of night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>ↄharacter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>two paragraphs are from a short i wrote a long time ago and finally turned into a full story</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Jackie curled in beside Gil, they made a <em>P</em>: a promise of his pancake breakfast on Sunday mornings and her lemon poundcake when they had fundraisers at the precinct. Some days they slipped to a <em>b</em> in an early surprise greeting, others a <em>C</em> when one of them needed more soothing. During rare arguments, a <em>V</em>, their feet breaking the rift and seeking comfort in the other.</p><p>When Gil slid to an <em>l</em>, he didn’t see the daylight. He rolled the width of the bed, every position just as lonely, and fell deep into the dark pull of night.</p><p>He folded into a <em>U</em>, his face burrowing in her pillow, his knees reaching up into his own. Rolled over to an <em>n</em>, as if any way he could turn would undo the reality she was gone. Extended, his arms asking <em>y</em>, <em>y</em>, <em>y</em>, only to flip over, his legs bending into a <em>J</em> in search of her.</p><p>Jackie. She was all he needed. Not the pillows, not the blankets, not the mattress. He could lay on the damn hardwood floor for all he cared as long as she was with him. Crossing his body, <em>X</em> marking the spot they connected. Twisting into reverse cowgirl, a deftly riding <em>d</em>. Holding each other after the <em>o</em> spasmed their bodies, yet remained in the flush and sated gazes gracing their faces. </p><p>There were playful nights, tickling her until she squirmed and called <em>T</em>, her breath heaving and skin glistening with a light dusting of sweat. Pulling back to touch foreheads and link arms in an <em>A</em>, smiling with each other as they returned to some form of collected. Melding his hands to her face, a <em>w</em> forming at the edges of her lips as he kissed her softly and she opened to meet him thoroughly. Shifting so he could hold her from behind while she snuggled her legs up into an <em>h</em>. Turning into a <em>k</em> when his arms and legs twined over hers. An ever-changing tangle of bodies seeking each other in sleep.</p><p>Lost languid moments laying in bed, not caring about the world beyond the mattress.</p><p>But that was all that was left.</p><p>After.</p><p>The <em>L</em> of his arms stretching for the wife he’d lost. His hands reaching for attention he couldn’t grasp in a clasping <em>e</em>. The <em>r</em> of his morning wood he found difficult to enjoy without her. His shape tossing and twisting between <em>S</em> and <em>Z</em>, searching every corner of the bed for her, only to wake in a tangle of covers, alone.</p><p>The <em>q</em> of the bird he flipped into the sheets on a daily basis, wanting to kick cancer’s ass. The <em>m</em> creasing the corners of his eyes and over his furrowed brow. “<em>F</em>“-fff this always creeping on his tongue, yet never rolling off.</p><p>The beyond. The place he had to go when his eyes fuzzed toward the thing his phone told him was a new day and his stomach reminded he had not been kind.</p><p>He got out of bed and padded to the bathroom, a <em>G</em> curled over the toilet. Lost his nightcap come dinner that slid down too easily yet came up so frequently. Wished he felt her presence on his neck, at his side holding him until the sickness passed.</p><p>Would it?</p><p>She did.</p><p>Anything was possible.</p><p>His stomach rebelled again. He flushed and dunked his head under the faucet, rinsing out his mouth. Followed it with his toothbrush. Counted as he scrubbed.</p><p>① month since he had last hugged Jackie.</p><p>② days since he’d been able to hold down any food.</p><p>③ weeks he’d had the house to himself.</p><p>④ fingers of whiskey starting in his glass every night.</p><p>⑤ times he’d considered calling Malcolm, but dismissed the idea as stupid. A day. At least.</p><p>⑥ layers he pulled himself into, as if he could ever cover his grief.</p><p>⑦ lonely days. Every week a lonely week.</p><p>⑧ dresses lined up in the closet, the hangers parted to her favorite. A paisley.</p><p>⑨ million ways he’d pledged <em>fuck cancer</em> and nothing to show for it.</p><p>⑩ kinds of soup he cycled through when he could manage. All canned.</p><p>⑪ days before he’d truly realized she was never coming back. It was <em>embarrassing</em> tripping up like that. To Malcolm.</p><p>⑫ hours until he could return home and sleep again.</p><p>⑬ years they had been together. It wasn’t enough. No.</p><p>Gil spat into the sink and washed his thoughts down the drain. He needed to make it to 16. His job, the only thing he had left to cling to without his wife, his world.</p><p>He pulled on fresh clothes, tossing the old to land somewhere near the hamper. Tomorrow and tomorrow's problem. Drank down his dark coffee and left, hoping the beyond would someday make sense again, have any character without Jackie.</p>
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  <em>fin</em>
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